


i'll love you like i love you (then I'll die)

by makemelovely



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dreams, F/F, Gay Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Hanahaki AU, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Icarus references, Max loves Jane, Mythology References, Pining, Slowly dying, The Great Gatsby References, Unrequited Love, it's wlw mlm solidarity tbh, max and will are buddies, max realizes she's a lesbian, mentioned mike wheeler, no seriously it's like just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makemelovely/pseuds/makemelovely
Summary: Max realizes she has athingfor Jane in late October. It doesn’t become a problem until early April.//or the Hanahaki au that nobody wanted or needed





	i'll love you like i love you (then I'll die)

**Author's Note:**

> title from some are lakes by land of talk.  
> i do not own stranger things.

Max realizes she has a _thing_ for Jane in late October. It doesn’t become a problem until early April.

 

_

 

Max’s world stops on a Tuesday. She wakes up late, and she doesn’t have time to shower so she sprays on some strongly scented perfume, yanks her jeans over her red underwear, and grabs the yellow hoodie on the kitchen table. She grabs her keys from the hook by the door, and she’s in the car in minutes, zooming down the road. She’s totally _not_ speeding. (She totally is).

 

“Zoomer!” Max shouts out the open window, grinning as her hair streams out the window. It’s her tradition. She’s been doing it even since she got her car in Junior year. Max had been calling herself the ‘Zoomer’ of her nerdy friend group since Eighth grade when Mike said she didn’t have a special skill. She had said she was the zoomer, and Mike had thrown a hissy fit. Later, he had begrudgingly allowed her to be the zoomer of the group despite his previous protests about the authenticity of her character.

 

Max pulled into the school’s parking lot, grabbing her backpack and slamming the door as she sprinted towards the front doors. She barreled down the halls, slowing down when she approached her first hour math class. She was in honors math with Jane, and Lucas. Mike had fifth period honors math, which he was constantly complaining about. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. R. My alarm crapped out this morning. Do you think it’s time for a new one?” Max asked innocently, sliding into the seat behind Jane.

 

Mr. Rogers was probably the coolest teacher ever. He told all the kids to call him Mr. R, and he was a genuinely good teacher. He gave them free Fridays where they spent the last twenty minutes of every class period doing whatever they wanted. They could listen to music, and chat with their friends. He only really got annoyed when kids were terribly disruptive, but since the class was full of nerds it didn’t really get rowdy.

 

“Are you okay?” Jane whispered, turning around in her seat. She handed Max a pencil, smiling at the sudden blush spreading across Max’s face. Max never had a pencil, and this is why best friends are important.

 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Max’s brows furrowed, confusion bright in her blue eyes.

 

Jane gestured to the loose mass of hair around Max’s face, and the patchy splotches of red on her pale skin. “You look really, um, messy, kind of. Like, thrown together hurriedly.” Jane explained, reaching out a hand and patting Max’s hair.

 

Max swallowed, heat rushing through her body. She leaned into Jane’s touch, smiling contently at the feel of Jane’s cool skin against her own heated skin. “Yeah, Jane, I woke up late. Dork.” Max teased, pulling away and gesturing for Jane to focus on the lesson at hand. Jane nods, grinning, and turns away. Her curly brown hair brushes against her neck, gently swaying as she scribbles down equations. Max chokes a little, coughs into her hands. A petal, pink and soft. _Oh,_ Max thinks. _Oh._ It all goes wrong in a mundane moment. _Oh._

 

_

 

Max goes to the library right after school, fingers flying over hardcover books. She pauses at one called _The Flower Disease._ It’s about unrequited soulmates, which is horribly common. Max has always known she would never have an unrequited soulmate. She didn’t like boys very much, and she realized why in third grade. Leslie Parks had kissed her on the swingsets, grinning around a mouth of bubblegum and the knowledge that they had done something _bad_.

 

Leslie had laughed and laughed, eyes glowing and Max had thought the forbidden thought. _What if I like girls?_ And surprisingly, the thought fit. It calmed Max down, the thought of living life without a dumb boy by her side eating her food and stealing her cable. She had thought about telling her mom, but then changed her mind when she remembered the way her mother’s face twisted with disgust when they heard that Carol Anne from down the street was dating a girl named Emily.

 

Later, Max learns that a girl who only likes girls is called a lesbian. Or as her parents call them, dykes. Max stops flinching after awhile, forces herself to ignore the hurt aching in her chest. An ache only matched by the pain of loving Jane, and Jane not loving her back.

 

Max sits in the back room, reading page after dusty page in the lamp lighting of the library. It’s fascinating, in a morbid way.

 

 _Hanahaki Disease is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love. Symptoms include chest pains, inability to breath, cough, coughing up flower petals, and flowers blooming in the lungs. Once the flower is fully bloomed there is only a slim chance of survival. The flower will puncture your lungs, and prevent you from breathing. It  can be cured when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is_ **_not_ ** _enough), or it can be removed surgically. However, once the operation is complete, any feelings for their love will have disappeared. Typically, the victim will succumb to the disease rather than face any life of having no feelings for their beloved. The chances of your love returning your feelings is abnormally low. Risk what you are willing, but be aware what exactly you are risking._

 

There’s more, but Max is feeling her heart stuttering in her chest. Her eyes scan over meaningless words concerning where it originated, and how the name came to be. Max leans back, wonders what she should do. She still has time. Sure, not as much as she’d like because the pretty flower petals in her lungs are killing her, but still time. Max will wait, and see what happens.

 

_

 

Turns out, loving your best friend is really hard. Jane is everywhere Max turns, smiling and waving and looking more beautiful than she has the right to. Pretty dresses, soft sweaters, cute jewelry. Max just wants to hold her hand, okay. Maybe they would get lame matching rings. It would be cute, and Max would hate it but the point is that Jane would love it. She’d think it was sweet.

 

Max is in the bathroom reapplying eyeliner when Jane slams in, glaring fiercely. She stops in front of Max, arms crossed over the white kitten sweater she was wearing. Jane was scowling, eyes bright with hurt that felt like a dagger driving between her ribs. “You’re avoiding me.” Jane stated angrily.

 

“No I’m not.” Max grumbled, avoiding Jane’s eyes. She was looking for an escape route because Jane looked especially wholesome that day, and Max had only so much restraint.

 

“Yes. You are.” Jane said firmly, taking a step closer. She reached out, gently taking Max’s wrist in her hand. “Why?”

 

“Why what?” Max glanced up, and immediately regretted. Jane’s doe brown eyes were swimming with tears, and she was chewing viciously on her bottom lip.

 

“Why are you avoiding me?!” Jane threw her hands up in the air, taking a step back. Max inhaled deeply, feeling like she could breathe again. Then she automatically hated herself because she could smell Jane’s sweet scented perfume.

 

Max swallowed back her resignation, forced herself to spin a lie from the tip of her tongue. “I didn’t realize I was avoiding you, Jane. Honest.” Max tacked on, forcing herself to meet Jane’s eyes when the shorter girl snorted bitterly. “I’ve just been busy lately.” _Yeah, busy choking on flower petals._

 

Jane’s expression softened, her eyes meeting Max’s with mild concern. “Just don’t get too busy for your best friend, dork.” Jane leaned forward, hugging Max tightly. Max smiled against Jane’s shoulder, nose pressed against her soft sweater. _I could never be too busy for you,_ Max thinks adoringly. _Even if it kills me_. And it probably would.

 

_

 

Jane smiles at her. Flower petals.

 

Jane laughs at her shitty jokes. Flower petals.

 

Jane takes her hand. Flower petals.

 

Jane buries her head in Max’s shoulder during the scary parts of the movie. Flower petals.

 

Jane, just Jane. Flower petals.

 

_

 

The coughing gets infinitely worse one Thursday evening. Max is sitting at the kitchen table doing her math homework, and then she can’t breathe. All she feels is the disgusting mixture of vomit and flower petals forcing its way up her throat. She coughs into her hands, heaving and crying with every petal that falls from her throat. Max looks up after awhile, tears streaming down her face. She spots blood, slick and red against her pale white palms. She can’t stop thinking of Jane, and the petals won’t stop falling from her mouth.

 

It feels like it lasts for hours, and eventually she feels her mother Susan scoop her in her arms, something desperate in the way her mother’s tears fall down Max’s cheeks. That’s when she gets the official diagnosis; Hanahaki Disease. Max’s mother cries, and insists that she has the flower removed. Max refuses her mother’s pleas, so her mother turns to the doctor.

 

“I’m afraid that I legally can not operate without the patient's permission. Hanahaki laws put in place during the 30’s prevents any operation done to remove the flower if the patient refuses treatment.” The doctor says apologetically, his light brown eyes sad.

 

“What kind of doctor are you?!” Max’s mother screeches, flinching away from the doctor’s kind face.

 

“One who prefers to keep his medical license.” The doctor replies drily, the corner of his lips turning up.

 

“She’s sick, and you aren’t doing a goddamn thing to help her!” Susan screams, drawing her hand back to slap the doctor. He leaves quickly, and Susan collapses bonelessly into the chair beside Max. “You stupid fucking child.” Susan spits from the chair, glaring at Max.

 

Max doesn’t say anything, but she secretly agrees. She just can’t risk losing Jane, even it means losing herself.

 

_

 

Max has to tell her teachers about the Hanahaki Disease. She has to in case she begins coughing in class and has to leave. She carries around a handkerchief, and she tries to ignore the spots of blood. She’s ignoring a lot of things lately; particularly the pitying looks from the teachers who are aware of her condition. Which apparently all of them. Fucking gossips.

 

“You look like you’re eighty carrying that thing around!” Dustin teases her at lunch, ignoring her glare and grabbing a french fry from her plate. “Can I call you Granny Max?” He joked, poking her in the side and drawing back when she threw a punch at his arm. “No? Okay.”

 

“No you can fucking not call me Granny Max. I’ll kick your asses, even yours Will.” Max jerked her chin at Will, who carried his own handkerchief. He was a frail boy, skinny with skin whiter than snow and a brown bowl cut.

 

Will laughed softly, drawing in gulping breaths. He had a lung disease, Max had learned when she’d moved in eighth grade. He’d had it for years, ever since he was in, like, kindergarten. He used to keep it hidden, but he had come forward about a year before Max had moved to Hawkins. Now he was pretty open with it, but only with the Party. Max still didn’t know what lung disease he had, and didn’t feel comfortable asking. “I would never.” Will promised, eyes shining.

 

“Hey guys! What’s so funny?” Max turned to look at Jane, and her heart stopped. Jane was wearing a yellow dress that flared out from the waist, and it stopped at her knees. Her curly brown hair was down, and she was wearing golden eyeshadow. She looked like a sun goddess, and Max wanted to worship at her temple.

 

Max choked, her stomach cramping. She pulled her handkerchief to her mouth, a cough bubbling up from her throat. “Max?” Someone asked, concern etched in their voice. Max could only nod as she had begun coughing. She stood up, stumbling out of the cafeteria. She slid against a wall, falling down onto her butt. She coughed and coughed, her throat raw and aching. Eventually someone sat beside her. Max stopped coughing, and twig Will Byers took her hand. “I have Hanahaki Disease.” Max told him softly, tears swimming in her blue eyes.

 

Will nodded. “I do too.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah. Oh.”

 

They sat in silence, both doomed. Love makes fools of us all.

 

_

 

It’s just that sometimes Jane is the sun, her eyes bright and skin golden. Sometimes Max leans too close, and her skin gets burned. Sometimes she’ll kiss the sun, and get freckles. She revolves around Jane. Jane is the center of her solar system, and Max can’t change that. So she writes about it.

 

_Today Jane smiled and I knew that I was Icarus. I knew because he kept warning me not to fly too close and I did it anyways because she is just so warm and bright that I could not help myself. I felt the wax melting along my spine, and I touched the sun. Then I fell, and it was worth it because for one fleeting moment I was touching her. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Maybe I deserve the taste of saltwater filling my lungs, sloshing about in my mouth because I flew too close even though I knew I shouldn’t have._

 

Max thinks that the story of Icarus is a preventable tragedy. A story of greed and selfishness and carelessness, and she thinks it fits her perfectly. She’ll never get the flower removed from her lungs because it’d be like removing Jane from her life. And maybe that makes her greedy. Whatever, she’ll live with it.

 

She really won’t.

 

_

 

Writing makes life easier, makes the blood spatters on her handkerchief easier to look at. She can make it clear and devastating, the pure unfiltered truth of dying for a love who couldn’t possibly love you back. It’s messy, and sloppy, and hideous because it is supposed to be that way. It’s supposed to show you how terrible the truth is, and how it can’t be fixed.

 

Everything is uglier when it’s written in print.

 

_

 

Max dreams of Jane Hopper except she’s Eleven, escaped mutant of sorts who has dark eyeliner on and punk clothes and greased back hair and she refuses Max’s hand shake. It hurts, god of course it does, but it makes the sting of reality harsher. In this dream Jane is El and El hates Max which is so much easier to live with than a Jane who smiles and laughs at Max’s jokes and goes to the park with her on every other Saturday. El with a black leather jacket is less deadlier than a Jane with a kitten sweater.

 

Max also dreams of Jane Hopper. Just Jane Hopper. Jane with her pastel sweater collection, her yellow walls, and her sky colored comforter and lavender hair clips.

 

In one dream they read The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald, and Jane adores it. Max abhors it, hates the way she reads Gatsby and confuses it with Max. They read the chapter where Gatsby coughs up a fist full of flower petals, and Nick finds out about Daisy who lives across the lake. They talk about them, and how Gatsby is slowly dying but he won’t if Daisy comes to meet him.

 

“It’s bullshit!” Max declares, the familiar feeling of petals in her throat overwhelming her when she catches a whiff of Jane’s perfume. “This whole Hanahaki plotline makes no sense.” Max glared at the book, catching herself before she flinches when Jane reaches over and touches her wrist.

 

“It shows how one-sided the love actually is, and how naive Gatsby is to think it isn’t. It paints the picture of how idiotic and recklessly Gatsby loves. He won’t even think of having it removed because Daisy is out there somewhere.” Jane explains, smiling understandingly at Max.

 

Max nods, her mouth dry. It feels a lot like a metaphor.

 

_

 

“How do you want to die?” Max asks Jane one Friday evening as they lay in the grass outside Noah Kempt’s house. Max has a bottle of firewhiskey in her hand, and the stars in her eyes. Her red hair is spread across the green grass, and her jeans are going to have grass stains on them. She can’t bring herself to care about it though because El is wearing this floaty white dress and she looks like an angel.

 

“What?” Jane looks at her strangely, and Max tries to stifle her annoyance. She knows that Jane has played this game with Mike before, and she tries not to get annoyed by Jane’s seemingly reluctance to play along with Max’s whims.

 

“How do you want to die?” Max repeats, glancing at Jane, and her eyes catching on the golden ankle bracelet on Jane’s tiny ankle.

 

“I think I’d prefer to have a brain aneurysm. Something quick and painless.” Jane answers, reaching over and tapping Max’s wrist bone. “Your turn.”

 

 _I want to die beside you. I want to die in your arms. I’m going to die because of you, and I can’t bring myself to care._ “I think I’d like to drown. It’d feel like floating at some point, I think.” _You make me feel like I’m floating._

 

They lay underneath the sky, silent but touching.

 

_You will kill me. I don’t mind._

 

_

 

It’s in July when Max begins to feel the flower in her lungs. She has sleepovers with the Party, afternoons in the hot sun, and days spent in the arcade. All the while she can feel the flower in her lungs, feel the thorns pricking and the weight of the stem. Breathing hurts, and spots often dance in her vision.

 

Jane holds her hand a lot, and Max hates that she doesn’t want her to stop.

 

It’s only a matter of time until Max isn’t around to hold Jane’s hand.

 

_

 

“Max?” Jane asks, concern flitting easily in her voice. Max’s clutches her chest, gasping for breath. She collapses, her eyes fluttering shut. Her lips turns blue, something blooming in her lungs. The flower better be beautiful. It’s only got to look half as good as Jane. Nothing could look _as_ good as Jane. That’s  impossible.

 

“Max? Oh, god, are you okay? Jesus, Max, someone call an ambulance!” If Max dies, she’d be pretty happy with that being the last thing she hears.

 

“Max?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> idk if u guys realized because I didn't actually state it I don't think but Mike is Will's unrequited love. Anyways, thanks for reading hope u enjoyed


End file.
